Aug 24, 2019
arquitectura aurática_2009
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arquitectura aurática_2009
@chartographic continued from { x }
—words inspire him to take PAUSE, still action as he’d made to pull out a chair & seat himself across from her at the tavern table ; for a few moments he REMAINS halted, unsure if her words are intended to steer him towards another table, or exist merely as a warning that she won’t be putting up with whatever she may perceive as BULLSHIT.
almost tentatively he proceeds to sit, doing so CAUTIOUSLY, leaving an opening for her to shoo him away if THAT is what the weight her words carried.
“ don’t piss you off. i understand. ”
SUCCINCT, no more words than necessary ; caleb makes no indication towards having anything to FOLLOW UP with, falling QUIET as he situates himself into a comfortable position. arms fold atop the table, his eyes scan the few other patrons awake at this hour ;unaware, he taps a finger against opposite arm in tuneless rhythm, ANTSY for UNSPOKEN reason.
{ roll for self-control : 2. }
despite prior agreement, the wizard’s attention returns to beauregard, & with a marginal tilt of his head, he motions towards the stairs with a nod :
“ —should we cause a ruckus to wake the others ?”
the words are meant as a warning. she clashes with caleb sometimes on GOOD days & she’s too damn tired to pretend today is a good one. ( but he is her friend-- right?-- and she doesn’t want to be a dick for no reason. thus the warning. not everyone would get one. )
a long sip of coffee is taken-- no booze in it, though she definitely considered it. if nott were up, she might have done it. his suggestion draws an arch of her brows.
normally, she’d let them all sleep. but her room was adjacent to molly’s last night and things were... loud and she’s feeling PETTY AS HELL. maybe her motives aren’t the same as caleb’s, but the end goal is the same.
“...what kind of ruckus did you have in mind?”
‵ @chartographic / 54m54r4. ( x )
“ aren’t you supposed to make me FORGET my troubles ?”
a SCOFF in tone, though it doesn’t carry much real derision. 54M54R4 leans back against the pillows of the frankly GAUDY bed, soft enough to give the sensation of SINKING—pleasurable during SEX, not so much when trying to RELAX.
a brow arches, & the gang leader inspects the whore, a CONTEMPLATIVE expression upon features that, these days, tend to fall BLANK.
“ you’re from the upper levels, right ?”
tattooed arm wrapped ‘round sparrow’s shoulders, fingers mindlessly tapping along bare skin, little bursts of golden light between each faint press of a fingertip ; there’s PAIN, he can recognize, & while it’s not PHYSICAL, & while he’s not as COMPASSIONATE as he may once have been, the magic still intends to MEND whatever WOUNDS it can seep into.
“ you gonna tell me the story about your FALL from GRACE, lucifer ?”
“ mm. from one of the HIGHEST levels, actually. ”
settling down along 54m54r4’s side, sparrow’s tone is passive despite the pain his past has caused him. while he DOES still miss the upper levels sometimes, he’s come to enjoy the life he’s found down here, if mostly because of the people within it. ---not that he’ll be that openly sappy about it. sighing only a TOUCH dramatically with one hand supporting his head, elbow propped up on the cushy bed, the other moves lazily across 54m54r4′s bare chest.
“ my story is not that interesting. it’s all family drama; nothing so terrible as the things people of the undercity face in their lives. ”
shrugging a shoulder, a small smile remains curled across his lips, his fingers IDLY tracing patterns across the other man’s skin. his own tattoos glow a soft green in the dimly lit room --- the only REMAINING reminder and tie to his family --- but far more notable to sparrow is the warmth of the fingertips that tap a gentle rhythm along his shoulder.
“ i am only trying to say that you seem to get too CAUGHT UP in your own head. maybe i’m not one to speak, but sometimes it does well to remember that you are not the only one in pain. ”
it's a SLOW morning, & in between skimming a book caleb steals glances towards mollymauk's end of the table, attention caught on the actions as deft fingers flip through tarot deck. every so often he'll catch brief glimpse of art, & recognize which card it's designated ; it's the sharp MEMORY he bears, but would like to imagine it's as well due to him having spied the tiefling so frequently toying with the cards. "---you know," he begins, folding the book closed ; "i'd like a reading."
ghost ( @chartographic ): *appears in my inbox*me: ah shit here we go again
Molly knows when he’s being watched. He’s made himself up for being watched, so it comes as no surprise when there’s an insistent niggling right behind his ears. The tavern is sleepy and slow today, most of the patrons dotting the floor sequestered to their booths, nursing their trosts and thousand-yard staring down the bottom of their flagons—if he didn’t have his cards, he’d be in the same predicament.
The surprise comes in the knowledge that it’s Caleb, of all people, watching him in that way that isn’t so dissimilar to cats—with a focus that can easily turn to disinterest in the span of a breath. Molly flips his cards between his fingers more than necessary, claws tapping against the feathers on his cheek. He isn’t prone to putting on shows for free, but he can afford to give one out every now and again.
The turn in curiosity stings the air enough for him to taste and he lifts his tankard for a pull of watery ale when he’s finally addressed. His tail coils in, and just as lazily coils out. Molly slides back into his chair and hooks his arm over it, booted ankle finding his knee.
“But you’re reading, Mister Caleb,” he points out, gesturing towards him with the Seven of Cups and the faintest of cheeky grins. Like he’s going to turn him away, bored as he is himself today. He taps the edge of the card against the haphazardly stacked deck in front of him. “But since you asked so nicely—” he hadn’t “—let’s give it a go!” Molly crooks a finger at him and pulls both legs into his chair with a flurry of noise and color, folding them lotus across the seat. “Get over here. Can’t read your energy if you’re halfway across the bloody tavern.”
He begins to cut and shuffle the deck, smile ever-present. He could stack the cards for him, but leaving it to the fates could be fun for someone like Caleb, who looks like he’s never had fun a day in his life.
“On the house.” The void of his gaze flicks up, corners of his mouth pulling, “I’d feel terrible taking a man’s book money.”
@chartographic | cont. | :3c
❝ I mean--- If you WANT it to be a date then I GUESS I could go along with it. Maybe I should think twice about extending the offer to come with us to Ana then, wouldn't want her to feel like the third wheel. ❞
A smile, tone of voice overall jovial as he made what could be perceived as a joke-- the blond, in a way, embarrassed that the older male had seen right through him in the actual purpose of his invitation. Jack knew how it sounded when he had asked, but also knew he could play it off as just something casual two best friends could do in their very limited off-time. It wasn't often now, after all, that the two of them ( let alone the three, counting Ana ) could actually spend time together outside of a job that constantly encroached upon their personal lives-- something that the Strike Commander himself had paid the price of, considering the failure ( and amicable split ) of a relationship that had somehow survived a war yet couldn't survive the changes in Jack's life that came with his new position. And, for Jack himself... he was ready, almost, for pursuing something new. Yet... generally it was UNWISE, to one: date a co-worker, and two: date your best friend. But, he had inklings when it came to Gabriel, sometimes. For a few years, even, that the other man might be interested in something more.
❝ So... What day do you think would work best for you? And what would you want to go see? I doubt you'd want me to plan the whole afternoon for us, after all. Lunch'll be my treat, though. I’ve been having a craving for fried calamari lately. ❞
@chartographic
“No, boss. That’s- not how my power works,” Caustic explained with a soft, almost apologetic voice. He was a hitman, a good one, but subtlety was not exactly one of his skills. Not of him as a person nor of the very nature of the abilities that helped him climb this high up on the food chain.
“I--- know it looks like fire but- Think of it as--- uhm. Acid. Acid fire. Corrosive fire. That’s why... your predecesor named me Caustic.”
cartografías auráticas_2017
“Being better is something you have to work at, I guess."
for @chartographic bc their friendship makes me feel things